


The Just Witch

by KaneNogami



Category: Chronicles of Narnia - All Media Types, Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis
Genre: Fix-It of Sorts, Gen, How Edmund and Susan decided to build their own future, and Edmund might have gotten banned from narnia in the process oops
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-20
Updated: 2018-10-20
Packaged: 2019-08-05 00:51:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16357439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KaneNogami/pseuds/KaneNogami
Summary: One last gift, poison hidden under cold fingers, fated to spread across his body until the end. Witches cannot be humans, but Jadis has never been one to run out of possibilities. So, she shares, generous as she is, giving a little bit to that child who will certainly go back to her side one day.Except he doesn't because Edmund is not that kind of witch.





	The Just Witch

      He notices the _change_ for the first time during Winter, back home for the holidays. It starts as nothing more than a sensation, something aching as he curls his toes while trying not to slip off the couch he is laying on. Something will go wrong, Edmund tells himself. _How_ matters more than _what_ , as he can prevent it as long as he is quick enough. He has long ceased to believe in a linear future, opting to trust in miracles and courage instead. Therefore, as his foot hits the coffee table, mug of cocoa heading for disaster, it feels natural to use his mind rather than body. To wish for everything to move back in time. He suspects that's not what happens, although the cup avoids a tragic ending by sliding away from the edge of the table and back where it should be. Is it a trick from his mind? Edmund, alone in the living-room, closes his book sharply, sliding on the floor to observe the phenomena. There are countless questions pressing against his tongue, and he has to fight the urge to swallow them all, one by one. With a tentative flicker of the wrist, he attempts to recreate what happened.

 

With no avail.

 

Ah, was it a mere illusion caused by the late evening? He should head to bed like everyone else already. Still, it's impossible to chase the feeling that something has shifted in him. Crossing his legs on his mother's beloved carpet, Edmund takes a deep breath, book long forgotten by his side. Difficult not to get aggravated when nothing happens. He has been this way a little too often lately, since their return from Narnia. It's as if everything has been stripped from them in the span of a second. Not quite children any longer, yet far from being the adults they had grown into. He has a lot to say about what was offered and then taken, emotions on the verge of turning into something ugly he'd rather not go through again.

 

As the clock strikes midnight, resonating behind him, the young king—mere schoolboy—loses to the fatigue. Done with what didn't happen, he makes a brutal hand gesture, as to banish sounds and lights from existence.

 

This time, hot cocoa drips on the floor as the cup falls on its side.

 

“Bloody—”

 

His mother is going to be furious about this one.

 

 

     Magic doesn't belong to humans, except if there is someone greater involved. Edmund doesn't struggle much with finding who he is meant to blame. The scar on his side, the one who still feels like ice when he presses his fingers against it—a gift he would cut away from his skin if he could. Still, he hasn't expected to find himself able to manipulate his surroundings, especially in England. Narnia was different, as magic could happen for no real reason, spirits and nymphs hidden around them as they walked around. Lucy was the most receptive to the flow surrounding the young monarchs, waving into the empty air more than once, a bright smile on her lips.

 

He doesn't tell her. That's another secret, once more a traitor's mindset, he whispers to himself at night, eyes wide open when they should be closed. At times, hot turns cold and frozen goes burning. It's difficult to measure properly, although no one notices. He finds them silly, especially as their drinks are covered in fumes whereas his is on the verge of turning into ice-cream. Edmund has a natural affinity for the cold, much to his chagrin. She left her claws deep into his skin, the magic he uses not truly his.

 

Corruption lingers on the verge of his mind, a constant fear of turning into everything she was, so pale and lifeless. He checks his hair for white strands every morning, boys at school mocking his old age. There are countless rumors, although most tend to relate to Peter these days. He is a raging storm, barely concealed under tight lips and rough fists. Edmund has no intention to fight bullies any longer, opting to outwit them instead. Not all fall for it, but then it's a piece of cake to make them lose their balance in the stairs, or slamming a door in their face without even touching it.

 

 

_She_ gets more abnormal in his nightmares, countless teeth and eyes completely frozen in place, always focused on him. He can't avoid her by running away though, as the end is always cruel and meaningless. He wakes up with hands wrapped around his throat and the impression he is going to suffocate. Showers are cold and fast, followed by light clothing thrown over his body. Even in the cold February, Edmund realizes he is fine with only a shirt and pants. Perhaps it's the adrenaline, or the way he lacks sleep. Either way, he leans against trees and closes his eyes, hoping they are still alive and he hasn't unleashed an endless Winter on them.

 

_Traitor, The Just_. Edmund has long accepted both titles as his own. No matter how hard he has worked in Narnia to make amends, the past is not something you merely pass off as a child game of playing pretend. Of course, some details are wrong the more he ponders over them. It's illogical that they were the rulers, being a bunch of young children.

 

No, it's _unfair_.

A beautiful adventure, oh yes, that's how he recalls _his_ Narnia. Lucy and Peter do the same, longing for battles and endless festivals. Susan tells him about the times they were almost assassinated, or treaties which failed because of their actions. Negativity to sever old bonds more easily, Edmund supposes without ever mentioning it out loud. He wishes to narrate what happened in Jadis' castle, how his heart almost turned into ice. Instead, he finds himself giving them sharp comments, recalling how Lucy once fell off her horse in front of royal neighbors, or the way Peter couldn't drink more than one glass of wine without turning into an even bigger idiot.

 

In some way, Edmund wonders if Narnia hasn't robbed them from their innocence, in exchange for these memories.

 

 

     Summer ends faster than it should, leaving them on the verge of another endless school year. Peter could learn how to chill, he mutters to himself as they awaits for their train. Magic has been aching in his veins more than usual, either to complain about the heat of July or the way he tried to hush his talent away with his siblings around. There were a couple of weird occurrences, such as a burned cake being saved out of nowhere ('I just removed the burned part with a knife, what did you expect') or Peter getting hit by a cupboard door after an especially long rant over joining the army after school ('In case you haven't noticed, I was standing on the other side of the room'). Thank Aslan he is still able to sound convincing.

 

Edmund senses the magic before it engulfs them, grabbing hands and squeezing tight while wondering what is going to happen this time.

 

A part of him isn't eager to go back.

The other is aching to see _home_ once more.

 

 

      Ruins. That's what they get, old friends buried deep and little to recover. Lucy remarks the lack of magic at the same time he does, even if she's a lot more vocal about it. Edmund offers his trust and understanding, without trying to dwell into it too much.

 

While the lion is certainly the one who sent them back in England centuries prior, the situation felt akin to a punishment. No matter how everyone wants to assist Caspian, that's not their place to be kings and queens any longer. He leans against Susan, shoulders pressing as he observes the way she clenches her fingers against her bow.

 

“I'd have rather not returned, if it's only meant to be something temporary,” she whispers to him once the others can't hear.

 

“That's not our place to decide.”

 

Except they shouldn't be chess pieces, moved by something greater without being allowed to weight the consequences first. They spend a moment right there, without anyone to disturb their peace. Later, as Lucy claims to have seen Aslan once more, Edmund wonders if he should have gone with her instead.

Too late to change his mind.

 

 

     Of course, men are bound to freeze and kneel over in front of power. That's greed, having invaded their hearts from childhood, that almost causes Jadis' return. He watches, from afar, aware of how close Peter and Caspian are to giving up. Well, that's their problem in some way. Edmund already won to her once, it should be sufficient. Obviously, he has to rescue them, perhaps by slamming his sword into the mirror and shatter it.

 

Oddly, the boy picks a completely different strategy.

Dragging the two backwards with his powers wouldn't work out, he doesn't have such level of control. He makes them trip over their own feet instead, standing right in front of his nemesis. Still tall and stunning, on the verge of causing a disaster.

 

Edmuns sighs.

 

“It's been a long time.”

 

The hand goes back inside the mirror, disappointment showing on her face. Even Jadis can tell he won't succumb a second time. Lack of sweets to offer. He lets his palm linger close to the ice, avoiding direct contact. Being pulled towards her would be an annoyance, just as Peter's voice behind him is getting on his nerves.

 

“Indeed, _my child_.”

 

There is an itch under his skin, not exactly where the scar is. It's everywhere at once, leaving him breathless as he considers the possibility to letting her out— terrible. That's how strong her magic still is. His is slightly less useful for now. Perhaps it could grow, eventually.

 

“Do you appreciate my gift?”

 

Acknowledging it in front of Peter is going to be his downfall, Edmund isn't a fool. Still he finds himself lifting his hand higher, conjuring ice on the tip of his fingers.

 

“I do.”

 

“Have you been practicing? I could teach you how to be a proper witch.”

 

“That's who I am, then? A _witch_ ,” Edmund repeats the words, finding an unacceptable joy inside his heart at the thought. Peter's hand, or Caspian's, touches his shoulder, only to be pushed backward without Edmund even turning around. That's a crucial conversation, can't they tell? He isn't a mere mortal like them, able to be seduced by a couple of empty promises.

 

“Yes, a child reborn with magic and my guidance.”

 

“I could do without the second part.”

 

Another title, then Edmund hesitates, only one second, before pressing both palms against the mirror. Perhaps there is a scream behind him. Something about 'don't do this!'. He doesn't pay attention, focusing all his mind on the concept of flames burning everything down.

 

It could have been shattered with one swift move of his sword.

Instead, he watches Jadis' disapproving gaze, and hollow shout as the creation slowly melts away. Once there is a hole, it falls apart completely.

 

“Yeah, I can definitely manage myself fairly well.”

 

He mutters something about 'you had it covered, sure' to his brother, ignoring the concern emanating from everyone around him. Sitting down sounds like a promising option, right now.

 

 

     They talk about curing him.

Which is the biggest nonsense they have managed to find in a while. He scowls at them, especially Lucy, so in love with magic, yet rejecting his because it comes from something evil. A long time ago, Edmund realized that you could decide what to do with what you were given, no matter the circumstances. He can turn this into his strength, that's his choice. No matter how Aslan takes him aside from the others, warning about what it means to be a ruler of Narnia once more.

 

It's risible, Edmund knows exactly what having the weight of a country on him can do to someone. He won't give up on the magic he has been nurturing for over one year. That's not about Jadis, as they all believe. The sole person who truly seems mesmerized with his little tricks is Caspian. He takes a great liking to him after that, showing the other how to manipulate space gently, moving objects and creating sparks in his palms. A shame Edmund cannot teach anyone. What he creates is not meant for humans, only for witches and other creatures.

 

Right before they return home, after ensuring Caspian is turned into a rightful king, he offers him an artifact he found hidden in the ruins of his old home. Something they had put behind a glass to seal its power away. By now, Edmund is certain there was nothing to fear, and the dagger will guide him onto the right path. Bestowed with magic, able to discern evil from good, they had considered it to be unreliable. After it indicated some of their enemies as unworthy of dying, he had claimed it to be faulty.

 

Ed is saddened it has taken him so long to realize not all their actions were right back then.

The one who was wrong was certainly himself, rather than the dagger.

 

 

     There isn't a third time for him.

Aslan doesn't welcome those who could harm Narnia.

He phones Susan in America, telling her about Eustace and Lucy's journey.

 

“Oh Ed, they merely went out without you, there isn't much to weep over.”

 

Sometimes, she _forgets_. On purpose, to put a barrier between the pain and herself. He doesn't truly blame her, even if it's hard to accept in such moment.

 

“I'm bringing you the most exquisite gift when I return, you should focus on this rather than your juvenile troubles.”

 

There are many words coming into his mind, most far from kind. Still, when he fails to reply with his usual wit, Susan is quick to add more to fill the blanks.

 

“I'll go on a trip with you next time. Only the two of us.”

 

“I'd appreciate that, as long as you do not forget that special gift you told me about.”

 

“Still a strong sense of priorities, I see.”

 

He finds himself with a smile tugging at the corner of his lips, wondering when he started to believe forgetting isn't such a curse.

 

 

     Incredibly, Susan believes in _his_ magic. As they sit together in the grass for a picnic in front of the professor's great house, he shows her how he is able to peel an apple with a small cut and then making the fruit twirl in the air. And, later, he makes a flower blooms to tuck it behind her ear. As long as it's not _growing_ the flower, he is able to do that stuff. Modifying what already exist, never creating life. Fire, ice, and wind, those are destructive, therefore don't obey to the same laws. Sometimes, pushing himself too far causes damage, fatigue and dancing black spots in front of his eyes. There, it's not much. Only a game.

 

He expected his sister to be frightened, or, at best, to remind him to keep this hidden. The only thing she complains about is the way he makes their water too cold and then lukewarm while trying to fix the problem.

 

“Magic's difficult, Su,” he remarks while pushing forward a piece from the chess set she has given him. Not made of gold, yet incredibly better than his old one. She has learned to play back then, impressing their rivals or humiliating them when she judged it compulsory. Always fairly though.

 

That's where they have always been different.

Ah, he's being too harsh on himself again, his biggest flaw.

 

“As long as you train properly, it should be fine.”

 

“I lack a teacher. Not to mention Peter has a profound aversion towards my nature.”

 

_Witch_ , coming from the one who held his dying brother in his arms, sounds like an insult every time. Of course, he doesn't blame his sibling. Peter is as affectionate as he always was, if anything a little too worried about his well-being. He suspects Susan appreciates his magic because it goes against Narnia, which would be kind of terrifying—after all that was home, their place in the world—albeit logical.

 

“You are surely wise enough to teach yourself,” she sits like a lady, her back straight, chin tilted upwards to show she isn't afraid of the future. In spite of her profound aversion for their old 'games', she is surely growing into who she ought to be. He doesn't mind when she leaves for parties, coming home too late, her smile too wide to be completely sober. That's not wrong, to enjoy themselves. And perhaps he should learn to do the same, rather than remaining on his own.

 

 

     Festivities are louder than he recalls, people not caring much about what happens are long as the guests remain inside. She tells him about invitations and what to wear, brushing his messy hair and ensuring he appears proper. He teases her for her dark lipstick, the one she puts on once they are out of the cab. Their mother would certainly not approve of this. A couple of parties are different, more secretive. He enjoys these the most, when the music is low and people whisper to each other before dissolving into giggles.

 

Of course, there are talks of love. Susan says she feels like she's running out time, worried about she'll do after college. Marriage sounds a bit boring, she claims, tipsy and leaning against his shoulder. He agrees while removing the glass from her hand. At 17, Edmund would rather not get drunk, although he takes a sip from to time, only to try. Wine in Narnia didn't taste good either, but he had gotten used to it.

 

He had a couple of affairs, back then, still an adult. And right now—well there are difficulties in justifying setting the curtains on fire because he gets a little too excited without a doubt. His control over his powers has improved greatly, although he ignores which path he is meant to follow. His brother is a soldier, and before, it sounded excellent. Nowadays, Edmund would rather turn into a professor. Studying literature at college like Susan could be a start.

 

Oh, that reminds him Lucy has sent a letter last week, he needs to reply soon. Dear Lucy, still the most fantastic member of their family. She has apparently organized some kind of resistance at her school to protest against inequalities between students. Something about teachers not treating everyone as they should. He's proud of her, as always.

 

Sometimes, when she visits, she holds his hands firmly and asks for some magic. Aslan is a meager opponent when Lucy Pevensie believes in you.

 

 

     At nineteen, on a cold morning, Edmund wakes up while knowing everything is coming to an end. He skips classes, pulling clothes on hastily before taking the bus to go back home. His college is close, that's something which was important to him when he selected it. Being able to hang around his family while having a certain distance between them nonetheless. Hey, he needs some privacy.

 

Unlike boarding school, his fellow students don't find him weird in the slightest. The fact he draws runes in notebooks ('it helps me to focus') and buys countless plants ('for tea', he claims) doesn't bother them that much. It's impressive how people can be talented at pretending what's in front of their eyes doesn't exist.

 

He's late, by a couple of hours without a doubt. Susan is standing on the porch, handkerchief held so tightly her knuckles have turned white. There is a police officer by her side, and he knows before even putting his bag down.

 

“Oh Ed—it's the train—” She wraps her arms around him right before her legs give out. He catches her, not feeling fine either. They sit together for a long time, barely listening as they are asked to come over to identify the bodies. They hold onto each other, in need of an anchor.

 

And, when they are finally able to go, they have to look at what's left (so little for some) of their relatives. He watches as Susan pulls her hair back with a couple of pins before crouching down as white sheets are lifted one after another.

 

_Magic could bring them back_ , a voice whispers in the back of his head, filled with sorrow and he has to remind himself that's not possible. He cannot create life. Instead, he throws up in a corner, a kind nurse gently guiding him somewhere he can sit down right after. He has seen countless mangled bodies before, as a king. But none belonged to his family. That wasn't Lucy's favorite beret crushed against her skull, or Peter in his brand new uniform and nothing else recognizable.

 

He understands how they must have felt, when he was almost gone.

 

“With the cordial we could,” he doesn't finish his sentence, bursting into tears instead.

He should have been abroad, or standing at the station. Edmund was meant to pick Peter up after all. Only to tell him he had an important class that day.

 

His brother had laughed over the phone, calling him an overachiever with that teasing tone he has (had).

And now, he's gone.

 

Susan clenches Lucy's bag as she returns to him. _Everyone is here_ , she says with her voice barely audible. Even their parents and their cousin.

 

 

    The funerals are a tragedy in themselves. Many people coming to mourn the unlucky siblings left behind. Strangers, most of them, met once in the blink of an eye. Lucy's classmates all come together, holding colorful bouquets and crushing them into tight hugs while claiming their sister was the strongest person they knew. He embraces little stories more than anything else, finding them comforting. Did you know that once she offended a diplomat by recommending a dish he was allergic to, he wants to say in return.

 

Narnia has taken too much. No matter how precious these years were, Edmund The Witch doesn't have the will to mourn them any longer.

He has to weep over his family instead.

 

 

     His body doesn't age properly, he notices one morning. He looks younger than he should be, the blame belonging to his blood and what Jadis has done to it without a doubt. At times, it's a bother, especially when he appear fresh of eighteen a couple of years later. Susan bothers him to learn more about his secret skincare products, which turns into a recurring joke. They share a flat, papers covering every surface when he comes home. She wants to be a writer, pouring countless words on blank sheets. She writes about forgotten girls who deserved better and allows them to go through foolish dreams without cutting their wings off.

 

Sometimes, she has guests. He finds her too close to another woman one evening, entangled fingers and kisses pressed against painted lips. He coughs a little, to show he's here, before complaining about having to make dinner because everyone is obviously too busy. And that's all. He reacts in the same way when it's a man, trusting Susan to know what she wants.

 

He introduces himself as a witch, before correcting it as 'future professor, a little bit magical I suppose', during dinners with Susan's friends. He's seen as extravagant and reserved at once, alongside a couple of sarcastic remarks here and there.

 

 

     Siblings living together doesn't sound so odd when they have lost everyone else. One day, they will certainly move from that old house lacking ghosts. He doesn't plan that far ahead, fine with finishing his studies first. They have long disregarded their existence as a punishment. They live, they go on. That's their strength, and the fact they are together is enough for them. Neither would say they forgive though. Their siblings, their parents… Of course they are not guilty. They blame the god who decided to remove their loved ones for a last battle without being concerned about what they would feel. So, they get a little too rebellious perhaps, Edmund clinging to magic and Susan to her right to be herself.

 

“Am I too old to try archery?” She inquires, at twenty-eight. “I've always wondered how it would feel like.” Susan is an excellent pretender, holding her cup of tea with the most delightful smile while knowing exactly how to use a bow no matter how much time has passed.

 

“It's a wonderful idea, my dear sister,” he replies with a similar expression as they sit in their small kitchen. “It would suit you.”

 

“Do you fancy learning the delicate art of fencing yourself?”

 

“Hm, I am afraid it does not suit witches that much. A shame, isn't it?”

 

They laugh, wondering if Aslan is able to feel how they lack regrets for who they have become.

 

 

    Edmund ends up accepting teaching jobs all across England, sometimes a little bit further than that, traveling quite often. At thirty-five, he barely seems to be twenty. There is no such thing as magic able to manipulate people's minds, he tells Susan once. He convinces them with clever words, a little bit of makeup to appear older. One day, he'll have to bleach his hair, although it'll be much better on him than on Jadis.

 

The day where Susan's first book is published, he buys it as if he hadn't read the manuscript dozen of times already. It's brilliant, he tells her over the phone, especially fond of the heroine running away from the throne at the end. He wouldn't call it an autobiography as the younger brother in the book is clearly insufferable and he was mostly decent back then. Well, at least not that bloody aggravating.

 

 

     Happiness is ephemeral, in the same way Winter always ends. Edmund used to have nightmares, to wake up sick because of snow covering everything until he couldn't see. Those belong to the past. Witches get afraid, they lean against their sister when they wait at the train station together, eyes glancing towards every teenage girl with a beret passing by. Witches still dream of their mother, the one who birthed them the second time without love and care, but so much greed they managed to fill both of their hearts at once. Witches don't grow much, remaining young as long as they are allowed to, and they dance in the snow, arms stretched wide as they spin around.

 

Edmund falls, his coat already getting wet from the white powder. He stares at the sun above him, exhaling slowly as he remembers a world where snow was meant to be evil. This one will melt, and they intend on living on.

 

He doesn't mind being sad from time to time, recalling with a heartache how he will certainly not meet his oldest and youngest siblings or his parents before a long time. Renouncing his magic is out of order, he is not a king any longer, doesn't want to be one. Just as Susan is herself, not needing a title to rule over her own heart. The snow shouldn't be falling so early on, and perhaps some will notice, muttering about Autumn being gone too fast. He doesn't mind, no matter the strain magic inflicts on his body.

 

Jadis would have covered everything to destroy and conquer.

Edmund is a fair witch, a _just_ one even. He merely wants to enjoy the sensation of playing outside a little.

 

“Aren't you a little too old for such games, mister?” The little girl asks, alone in her uniform in front of the park's gates. He abandons his coat, sitting up to brush some snow out of his hair.

 

“Am I?”

 

“I don't know!”

 

Edmund grins, having stopped to count years a long time ago. He sees age on Susan's beautiful face, sharp lines left by laughter and hair washed by all the love and air from the sea, that's enough for him. He visits her often, borrowing books and leaving small treasures he found along the way in their place. He conjures memories for her too, playing them on the walls just by thinking enough about it. But his favorite thing is to alleviate the ache in her muscles so she can shoot at the targets in the garden, her arrows as lethal and precise as they have always been.

 

“Do you like Winter?” He creates a snowball, making it float in the air until it's perfectly round and soft. “I used to loathe it, but it's certainly a charming season.”

 

“How do you—”

 

The snowball hits her on the shoulder, gently. It doesn't even fully break. That's enough for the child, perhaps eight or nine, to have sparks in her eyes. She walks forward, too young to reject and judge his magic yet. No one else is around anyway, so where's the danger?

 

“Are you a wizard? Like Harry Potter?”

 

Why do they always say that? He grabs his coat, leaving it on a bench. This time, he touches the snow with his bare hands, appreciating the cold sensation.

 

“A witch, once son of an evil one named Jadis and before and after that, I had wonderful human parents. I was also a king once, of a country which might not exist any longer. And then I went to college because that's what most parents want for their kids, you know how they are,” he comments while absentmindedly turning the snow into another ball, “oh and my name's Edmund. I always forget that part. What about you?”

 

“Gracie, third grade—I have a cat—it doesn't sound that good in comparison.”

 

“It'll grow more impressive with time.”

 

“Does magic exist then? Can I become a witch?”

 

“You cannot,” he presses the snowball into her hands at her crestfallen expression, “nonetheless magic does exist. And the best part if that you have it inside of you too. Perhaps, one day, you'll go on your own adventure if you're lucky.”

 

“Really?”

 

“Always keep your eyes open for that possibility. Even if you reject the ones who took you there, an adventure remains fantastic.”

 

Especially as a child. Grabbing his coat, Edmund starts to walk away, only stopping to lift a hand right before the snowball hits his back. It goes back to the kid, hitting her in the face this time.

 

“Hey!”

 

“You're way too young to defy a witch!”

 

He laughs on the way home, coat on his shoulder.

 

 

       One day, Edmund will be alone, perhaps for centuries. And, what he cares about the most, is that Susan gets to be happy and to meet his siblings once more. After all, she will fight her way into Aslan's kingdom if she has too. That's how she has always been.

As for him, well—he has enough time.


End file.
